


The Story of How Petty Officer Gryson Got a Raise

by draculard



Series: Comfortween [15]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Literal Sleeping Together, Pre-Relationship, Sleepiness, i mean i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Unable to sleep, Faro takes to wandering the Chimaera's passageways at night.
Relationships: Karyn Faro/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Series: Comfortween [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946224
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	The Story of How Petty Officer Gryson Got a Raise

She couldn’t sleep. 

That was one good thing about serving on a Star Destroyer, though — there was always somewhere to go, always a certain level of anonymity among the almost 50,000 crewers. And Faro never felt like she was disturbing anyone as she walked the corridors at night. If she put on her athletic gear after shift, she could wander for hours and everyone she passed would just assume she was on her way to one of the Chimaera’s training rooms.

It was almost like meditation to walk the passageways until she was ready to go to sleep.

It was almost like torture, too.

Her eyes were itching by the time she reached the far aft section of the Star Destroyer, several levels beneath the bridge — and far away from Faro’s personal quarters. There were fewer people here; the only quarters in this section of the ship were the Grand Admiral’s, and there were no cantinas or galleys nearby, so people didn’t tend to congregate.

The silence of the passageways felt like a cool balm to Faro. She let her eyes slide closed as she walked, confident that she could go at least a few steps without veering off course or running into anyone. The halls were completely deserted now, without any of the off-duty personnel or manic-looking night-shift workers Faro had seen elsewhere.

She opened her eyes and stopped walking, standing in the center of the passageway with a sigh. She could feel the thrum of the deck beneath her feet — a subtle vibration so constant and arhythmic that it was almost hypnotic. Glancing around, Faro found the deck number on a metal plate attached to the wall. ARC-6.

So, not far from Thrawn’s quarters, then. Or his ‘command room,’ as he called it, since apparently he didn’t need such mortal things as ‘living quarters.’ The ‘A’ in the deck designation meant this area was far enough aft to have an observation deck. Would it be…?

Glancing around, Faro spotted a wide, open archway not far down the passageway. She headed to it on sore feet, eager to find a place to sit down and rest a while before she headed back to her own quarters. The observation decks were always a good choice — each one was lined with orderly rows of soft couches arranged to face the transparisteel, where one could always see the soothing lights of stars and distant moons. 

Faro stepped inside and felt immediately like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. The room was empty and dark. She circled the rows of couches until she reached the front of the room, where the transparisteel window stretched from floor to ceiling and she could pretend she was out among the stars.

She stood close to the glass, her arms wrapped around her stomach. For more than a minute, she stared out at the sleepy galaxy around her ship, letting the distant lights pull her in.

Then she heard the rustle of fabric against one of the sofas behind her.

Faro jumped, whirling around to face the intruder. Her posture slumped and she went still a moment later, all of the reflexive fight-response draining from her.

Grand Admiral Thrawn was stretched out on the couch with a datapad resting on his chest and his head tilted back against the arm of the sofa. He wore the same black PT sweats as Faro, with his legs crossed at the ankle and one arm folded beneath his head.

He was fast asleep. 

Faro stared at him for a moment, unsure what to do. It was obvious he’d come here to work — there were datafiles scattered on the floor nearby, as if he’d fallen asleep with them still on his lap and hadn’t noticed when they fell. But she’d never seen him dressed informally while out and about on the ship; perhaps, like her, he’d come here because he couldn’t sleep.

(And perhaps, unlike her, he’d decided to be productive while doing so, Faro thought wryly)

She approached the couch slowly and crouched down to gather the fallen datafiles. She pushed them into a pile automatically, without glancing down at them; her eyes were on Thrawn and what she could see of his abnormally relaxed face. He looked younger in sleep — his hair was soft and tousled, as if he’d just washed it, and his lips were slightly parted. She watched his chest rise and fall as she stood, placing the datafiles on a small end table nearby. 

He was lucky she’d been the one to find him, she thought as she leaned forward, putting a hand on his arm. It wouldn’t do for some random crewmate to discover the admiral sleeping on a couch in the observation deck. 

“Sir,” Faro whispered. He had one hand resting loosely on the datapad, and Faro grabbed it and squeezed. “Sir,” she said again.

His eyelids fluttered — whether in response to her voice or to the fact that she was squeezing his hand, Faro didn’t know. 

“You’re in the observation deck,” she said, pulling back a little as Thrawn came awake with a sigh. He tilted his head at an awkward angle to look up at her, then closed his eyes again; at the same time, he stirred a little sleepily, pulling his legs up to make room on the couch — as if he thought she was waking him so she could sit down — and bringing his free hand up to rub the back of his neck. 

“Commodore,” he said, his voice thick from sleep. 

“There’s no emergency,” Faro told him before he could ask. “I was just walking the ship and I happened to find you here.”

She sat down on the free space next to Thrawn’s bent legs while he processed her words. After a moment, he sat up, leaning against the arm of the couch to study her with hooded eyes as he finger-combed his hair back from his forehead. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

He was so obviously half-asleep himself that Faro couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“No,” she admitted. She watched Thrawn’s eyes flicker down to her athletic clothes, which matched his perfectly. After a moment, he moved his datapad to the end table and pulled his legs up further, slouching into the corner of the couch with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach — as if he intended to stay here for hours more, and might as well get comfortable. 

“You’re a long way from your quarters,” he said in a murmur.

Faro hesitated, then slipped her shoes off and mimicked Thrawn’s posture, getting cozy on the other side of the couch. There wasn’t much room for both of them to sit like this, especially with Thrawn’s long legs; his foot brushed against the fabric of her sweatpants. He wore thick wool socks that looked expensive and _definitely_ weren’t Navy regulation.

Faro’s first thought was that the casual touch felt soft and warm and almost comforting. Almost domestic.

Her second thought was that she probably shouldn’t be sitting around like this with her admiral. She tried to distract herself. First she looked out the window at the stars; then she glanced at the work Thrawn had brought with him … which probably wasn’t supposed to leave his office without a secure lockcase and a licensed Imperial courier.

“What were you working on?” she asked him.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Nothing classified,” he said.

Oh. So apparently, even when he was half-asleep, he could still read her thoughts just fine. Faro crossed her arms over her legs and leaned back against the couch; it was so soft that she had to fight herself not to slouch against it the same way Thrawn was.

“Do you always sleep out here?” she asked, only half-joking.

Thrawn’s lips quirked into a smile. “More often than I’d like,” he said. “This is the first time anyone’s joined me.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Faro rested her chin on her crossed arms and found herself staring at Thrawn with hooded eyes as a comfortable silence fell. He stared back at her for a while, his face difficult to read, and then he turned and looked out the viewport instead. The soft light of distant stars washed over his face and reflected off his red eyes. 

Faro’s eyes had just started to drift shut against her will when she heard Thrawn murmur, “Not that I’m complaining.”

She cracked an eye open and raised an eyebrow at him, but he was still staring out the viewport, as if he hadn’t spoken. Faro could feel her legs slipping down one centimeter at a time, but she was too tired and too comfortable to keep them up. When her foot brushed against Thrawn’s knee, he sat up slowly, swinging his legs off the couch — and for one heart-pounding moment, Faro thought he’d had enough and was going to leave.

He didn’t.

He pulled Faro’s feet onto his lap and rested his hands on her ankles as if this situation were absolutely normal and he did this every day. He settled back against the couch, eyes hooded, head tipped back. After a long moment of watching him — making sure he really didn’t mind, and that this wasn’t some sort of test — Faro relaxed, too, scooting down until she lay on her back on the sofa with her head against the armrest and her feet secured in Thrawn’s lap. 

If he was okay with this, she thought, then she was okay with this. She could stand to rest her eyes for a little while. It felt nice — falling asleep somewhere new but safe, knowing she wasn’t alone — being able to feel Thrawn next to her, breathing deeply, utterly relaxed.

It was fine.

It was more than fine.

She let her eyes drift shut.

* * *

Petty Officer Gryson had been put on janitorial duty purely as a punishment for flubbing his last PT test, and today was his first day working in the ARC region of the ship. He made his way to the observation deck, grumbling under his breath as he pushed the janitorial cart ahead of him. This was _droid_ work, and nobody could convince him that there was ever a good reason to make a human do droid work. 

He was still glowering when he pushed his cart through the observation deck archway and froze, taking in the sight before him.

Did people sometimes fall asleep in the observation decks? Oh, yes. Over the past week, Gryson had seen plenty of them — but there was no berthing in ARC, so Gryson hadn’t expected to see anyone here today. 

He hesitated, his fingers flexing on the cart’s handle. Before him, tangled together on the couch, were two people he would have recognized anywhere: his CO and his XO, lying chest-to-chest. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s hair was mussed and his lips were parted, and Commodore Faro lay with her face buried in his shoulder, breathing in his scent as she slept.

Gryson hesitated, considering his options. His hand strayed toward his comlink — his first instinct, the ‘awww’ instinct, demanded that he take a photo, if only so he could prove he wasn’t lying when he told the guys in the galley.

His second instinct, the ‘I don’t want to die today’ instinct, demanded that he back away.

Gryson took one last scrutinizing glance at Thrawn and Faro. Most likely, the guys would believe him, anyway. Everyone had heard the rumors from bridge crew; supposedly (at least, according to someone named Hammerly) Thrawn had once blushed in full sight of everyone on the bridge when his hand brushed against Faro's as they shared a datapad. Maybe that wasn't true, but everyone on the ship believed it anyway.

And _now_ ... now, Thrawn’s hand rested on Faro’s waist; their hips were pressed together with a casual intimacy that went far beyond what was appropriate for a commanding officer and his subordinate. And Faro’s fingers were tangled in Thrawn’s hair, so it was pretty damn obvious there was some truth to the rumors. And it was pretty damn obvious what they’d been doing, too.

In the observation deck, of all places.

The observation deck that Gryson had to _clean_.

With an irritated huff, Gryson listened to his instincts and backed out of the room, taking his cleaning cart with him.


End file.
